The Forest
by Sage1111
Summary: To dream that you are lost in a forest indicates that you are searching through your subconscious for a better understanding of yourself. To dream of your own death indicates a transitional phase in your life. To see roses signifies faithfulness in love and the coming of joy in some area of your life. To wake in your dream signifies realization.


A star shot through the sky, the wind blew through the fields, making an ocean of wheat stalks underneath the pitch black sky. Bright red roses lining homes were a bloody color in the lighting, and thunder clouds rolled around in the sky, slowly approaching civilization.

Leaves rustled, crickets quieted, rabbits having been slowly turning white in the fall hid inside their burrows. The storm soon took over. But, way in the dark of a nearby forest, resting in the edge of a small city, there was movement, noticeable movement through the harsh winds winding through the cedar trunks.

Rain began to pour heavily, leaving puddles within two minutes, and a rubber boot splashed into the water, the figure of a boy jumping down from a tree trunk, his breath fast paced as he hurried through the woods, trying to find shelter.

"Damn," he cursed under his breath as he nearly tripped on a small downhill turf, and he slowed down, stopping to lean against a random tree. His head hung, his red hair tickling his face as he took in chilled gulps of air, his body shivering and wet, a plain black long sleeve soaked, along with his rain boots, jeans, and the camera around his neck that he'd given up on protecting within the last minute of harsh rain.

That's the last time he went wandering in the woods on a cold day. Never again, he told himself. If he got out of here without at least being really freaking sick, he'd...well, he didn't know what he'd do. Live?

He was very, very lost at the moment. North, south, Salston , he had no idea where to go or where he was. The best he could do was find shelter, but here in the many tree's he doubted there were many places to go, especially with this downpour. He could barely see ten feet in front of him, even with a pocket sized flashlight gripped in his hand.

Slicking back his hair, he began to walk down the slight hill he'd found, slowly and carefully in the mud that soon coated his shoes, cursing all the way. At the bottom, he picked up a jog again, only to stop, unable to breath. He should really have not skipped gym, he now noticed, as he registered his legs aching from the running he'd done to get back home before the rain took over. Clearly with no success.

On another note, he felt like the darkness around him was about to swallow him up; the reason why he'd ran in the first place. The woods tonight were terribly frightening, unlike the other nights he'd been here to keep entertained and away from civilization, left to his own head. Who cares if there weren't pluggins for any gaming devices? The woods were entertaining enough, namely with his trusty camera.

Not tonight though...ruined camera, creepy darkness and all.

Slugging through the rain some more, he eventually gave up his search for shelter, crouching with his knee's drawn to his chest near a tree trunk, no concern about the mud below as he was soaked right through anyways.

The boy, Mail, worried about his father wondering where he'd gone. Mail didn't have his phone on him as he typically left it at home, so it wasn't like he could call and tell his dad that he was okay and needed to be picked up...he didn't know why he cared about this though aside from the prospect of being saved, he and his father didn't talk much anymore. His early childhood was like a wonderland, but lately...Mail's father was busy with work, he was a mural painter and took his work very seriously, traveling to wherever he could get a job. It hadn't always been like this, but before that, Mail's preteens, Mail disliked even more.

And because of this, Mail spent most of his time in these woods taking pictures, or at home editing them, playing games if he didn't feel like entertaining the former.

He sighed, leaned his head into his knee's and shivered violently. He wanted more than anything to find a warm place to stay. He was so stupid to come out here tonight of all nights, especially without his phone. He knew there was a risk, but he hadn't cared, and look where it had gotten him.

Mail's body felt like it was becoming lead after just a few minutes, and now that he thought about it, he didn't know what the temperature was tonight. For all he knew, it could drop bellow zero and he could freeze to death. Cold, wet and well...Mail wasn't exactly the healthiest person. He was scrawny, that equals easily sick.

Yea, Mail was a little freaked out, as he wiggled his toes inside his boots, finding that they felt very numb already as he groaned. Just his-

Mail's head jolted up, his eyes wide in the darkness as his flashlight flickered a few times before cutting out. Mail paid no attention to it as he strained to hear something in the rain. He'd sworn he'd heard a crackle, like something human sized walking on twigs or a fire cracker in the distance. He didn't know which one, it was brief, and through the rain, very blurry. So he only strained to both see and hear at the same time, heart beating in chest and eyebrows furrowed.

Mail drew his feet closer to his body, he felt creeped out, as much as he was trying to convince himself that it was just an animal or a person; hopefully not something dangerous if it was an animal. There was nothing else it could be though, this wasn't some silly horror video game(though that would be fun...maybe not actually), Mail had no reason to be creeped out.

The crackles sounded again, and this time Mail recognized them as steady human footsteps heading towards him from...behind, he could barely tell with the rain, but that was it for sure. He didn't move, just stayed frozen, aside from the shivering as he waited to see who or possibly what was coming by.

Maybe someone else was lost, but Mail didn't move for the reason that he doubted it. Nobody liked this end of the forest, they would have had to have really wandered to end up here. Which was plausible..but, a larger animal like a moose was way more believable. Mail was still straining to hear, almost forgetting his intense shivering as the sounds came closer, 20 feet, 15, 10; Mail hesitated in standing up and shouting when he saw two cloaked figures run passed him, short, about his height, teens at the least.

They were running so fast though that they were almost out of sight again when he did stand, holding out a hand but voice failing him. It didn't matter, the one in front noticed and spun around abruptly, almost surreal that he could stop like that in the mud, the one in the back slowing in response and seemingly carelessly looking towards Mail. Both were wearing thick black hooded jackets, that much Mail could tell as they paused for a second, before the slightly taller one began to walk up to the redhead, the other patiently staying behind.

"Fuck, what the 'ell are you doing out here?" The voice was smooth, deep, adult and not familiar, but Mail immediately responded, promptly figuring, though odd, that these guys had to have some semblance of direction, unlike him.

"I was taking pictures, got lost- do you know where we are?" Mail spoke hurriedly, and he noted that what would be the man's face tilted towards his camera as he responded.

"Kind of, you can come with us." He didn't bother to raise his voice over the rain, making it hard to hear what he had said, but Mail understood and moved to follow when the man turned towards the other, picking up a brisk walk. "Let's go."

"Are you sure you want to bring him?" The notably shorter figure spoke, loudly over the rain, and the taller one shrugged in the response to the slightly more feminine voice.

"Can't leave him out in the rain- can you run kid?" That was directed at Mail, but it took him a second to figure that out.

"Yea.." In the dark, only relying on height and voices, Mail felt a little weirded out. 'Are you sure you want to bring him' seemed to be an odd thing to say in the situation. Nonetheless, when the taller one grabbed his hand and pulled Mail into a run, Mail followed without too much question. They could bring him to shelter, at the least, and Mail was frigging frozen. So he ran with them, the shorter one which Mail figured to be a girl keeping a steady pace behind them.

Mail was massively out of breath within minutes, but he kept up decently, the man in front of him letting his hand go eventually. Mail's lungs burned with the cold, his legs felt stiff, his toes felt like ice, not to mention his fingers as he gripped his camera in the hopes that he could fix it later on. It felt like the rain was turning to hail.

It was just as Mail was feeling like keeling over that he saw a small light up ahead, and that kept him running for the last few feet, as much as he felt sick from overexertion. The light slowly formed into a lamp set beside a small unidentifiable structure, and as the group approached the two mysterious persons slowed down with Mail following their lead.

A key went into the lock of a door, Mail barely registering the fact that it was way too dark to do that so easily, and simply going with the flow as the girl(?) pushed Mail inside behind Mello.

The brightness made him have to close his eyes, but the warmth was more of a comfort, even through his rain soaked clothes. The smell of peppermint and cedar hit his nose as he heard shuffling, the shucking and zipping of jackets coming off familiar to him, and Mail opened his eyes slowly, only to freeze, eyes wide and mind...confused, there was no other word.

Inside of what at first seemed to be a small building was...well, a mansion. Visible from the silky mat underneath Mail's feet were beige marble floors, large chandeliers on the ceiling, suede benches lining the walls of a huge room, red wood doors and hallways scattered along the space, with a huge staircase in the middle. Mail registered too that they had seemingly come through a back door. They were at the side of the stairs, and vertical to the stairs was a huge door with stained glass windows being pattered by rain. There were no other windows, just the one there with a red cross etched into the glass, huge thorny roses coiling around the shape.

Mail didn't know what to think. He didn't really think for a second, actually. Perhaps, they had been following a path unknown to Mail and it led towards their home, but..the only thing was that there were no mansion like this in Salston, no way, not for miles.

Which brought Mail to look at the two 'rescuers' standing just to the side of Mail, eying him. Mail had to do a double take.

What he thought was a man was actually just a teen, at least sixteen, Mail's age, with blond hair that fell to his chin, slightly damp. The one beside him was actually a boy too, but so young looking that Mail wasn't surprised by the voice he'd heard out there. Mail had to take a moment to register the oddness of these two, the blond who'd been at least a little keen on bringing him along before was almost glaring at him now, and the probably younger one, who had the strangest white hair, was gazing at him like Mail was a strange creature that revolted him.

It wasn't just those expressions that confused Mail, but their appearances; their clothes seemed to be pajamas, the older boy's tight fitting and black and the other boy's exactly the opposite, loose fitting white, making his look like a grumpy cloud. The blond, who seemed to be the tiniest bit taller than Mail...his face...his face was gorgeous. Thin lips, high cheekbones, narrow blue eyes and thick lashes that made him look girly, He could be a model. Mail could just have looked at him forever of it wasn't for that expression.

Mail had to cast further thoughts about their appearances away, as he took in their apparent seriousness. He was still shivering as he averted his gaze from their's a bit. He suddenly felt like an animal in a cage as he gripped his sleeves and pursed his lips.

"What?" The question from Mail's lips hopefully voiced every question he had, because he didn't feel comfortable speaking. The blond curled his lip in a condescending smile before he responded.

"You look like a piece of shit." Mail withheld any sort of expression, he didn't know how to respond to that, and the blond seemed to get that. "What's your name kid?" He said as he turned to hang his jacket on a coat rack, a coat rack that Mail hadn't noticed before at all.

"Um...M-Mail Jeevas."

The blond paused, before picking up his partner's jacket and hanging it, while the white haired boy just frowned deeply at him. Eventually the blond turned back to Mail, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him into a walk towards the stairs.

"That won't work here, you're Matt now, don't tell anybody your name alright?" Mail opened his mouth, only to have the blond cut him off with a glare. "No questions, Mail Jeevas doesn't exist anymore, you're Matt, just Matt." The blond set a muddy booted foot onto the first step, hurrying up the stairs ahead of the redhead and leaving Mail uncertain whether to follow or not. At the top of the stairs he stopped, loudly speaking down to Mail.

"Come on then. My name is Mello, that there is Near, feel feel to pick on him and explore this place."

* * *

 _"Dad, were do you think we go when we die?"_

 _"Nowhere"_

 _"Nowhere has to be somewhere."_

 _"No it doesn't, that's the point of nowhere." Mail could tell that his dad was bribing Mail to figure it out._

 _"But then, where is nowhere?"_

 _"Wherever you want it to be."_

 _"I don't get it."_

 _"Yes you do, think, where does everything come from?"_

 _"Well, somewhere- ohhh."_

 _"Nowhere, everything comes from_ nothing _. like a painting Mail."_

* * *

Mail glanced at 'Near', questioning the odd name as he looked back at Mello and began to step up the stairs slowly. "I don't understand." He said. Mello just smirked, turning away and walking down the hallway to the left. Mail picked up his pace and behind him so did Near, looking glum. Mail was shivering again as he stopped and watched as Near took the other hallway. Near looked none the friendly, and, so while he didn't know what the hell was going on Mail felt more inclined to Mello. Mail took the left, wanting answers.

He couldn't even begin to make sense of this, he just kept drawing a blank. What was this guy doing? Telling him his name was Matt now, which just happened to be his IM name. Telling Mail that he couldn't tell anybody his name...bringing him to this mansion which couldn't have existed near his city, no way in hell. Salston was too small a city.

Mail soon found out that this hallway was endless, no Mello, with no doors anywhere, or windows, the same eggshell colored paint and marble floors all the way through. Mail's heart was picking up pace as he picked up his steps and made to a jog. No Mello, nothing. Mail stopped, breathing deeply. Something was off.

He looked behind him and there was nothing but a long hallway that faded in the distance. Mail gulped, it seemed to echo in the- suddenly everything began to fade into darkness. Mail spun around, looking all around him, but before he could figure out that there were no light bulbs fading, it was already pitch black.

He could only hear his breathing and his feet felt numb again. He crouched down briefly to feel the floor at this, wanting down know what was beneath him in a second of panic. This action was barely thought on, and he regretted it when he felt something hard, kind of prickly, moving- Mail withdrew his hand with a shout, an embarrassing and girlish sound as he jumped up. All around him there was crackling, and he could only imagine what it was. He had a pretty good idea.

He'd lost his sense of direction once again, so as he tried to walk away, stepping on more of what he guessed were cockroaches, he tumbled over something. His sense of reason was lost here; there had been nothing in this hall, none of this was making sense, and he was about to give up thinking on it. The something he tumbled on felt metal and round, and the ringing that sounded afterwards caused him to clue in, which only confused him further. The clanging sound didn't fade away though, like a drum and symbol set would have, it kept up, overriding the sound of cockroaches crawling around.

* * *

 _Eleven year old Tommy gazed at the garage's ceiling with a fascinated expression, Mail and his dad standing by, his dad with an annoyed expression. Tommy looked at the red haired man after a few seconds, a disgusted but childishly interested expression on his face._

 _"How do you get r-r-rid of them?" Tommy said, stuttering as usual, and Mail's dad sighed._

 _"Have to have the place fumigated, the buggers are impossible to get rid of, and even then they can come back. Just like you kids." His disdainful voice turned to a chuckle, and Mail elbowed his identically redheaded father, Tommy giggling as the father and son began to play fight._

 _A week later Mail's father got a big job in Canada, and Mail's best friend was forcefully forgotten in the twelve year old's mind while they lived on the streets. Mail's dad hadn't planned ahead, or maybe he did, but just didn't care. They did their best though for two months, before Mail's father got a job and bought them a house._

* * *

Then it quieted down in the blink of an eye, and Mail was left head aching with his back bruising form the collision. The images having just flashed in front of his mind bringing tears to his eyes. Slowly light came back, and he was left in dim lighting of the same hallway from before..only...

Mail felt like choking as he gazed, terrified, at the image in front of him.

A fish tank, a huge fish tank with murky water lay in front of him, the sun of a window( _...That hadn't been there before...and hadn't it been night?!_ )beaming through it and inside...

Mail keeled over and vomited.

Inside the container was...a boy, a boy with freckles and a bald head, clutching a bicycle and...blue, dead, wrinkled, like he'd been underwater for months. Mail couldn't stare for a moment more, he stood up and bolted, running like his life depended on it, things falling around him, paint crumbling, melting, the floor cracking and mixed colors of paint leaking through. Soon Mail's footprints were clearly visible in an array of off looking colors.

* * *

 _Mail stared at his father, tears in his eyes as he gripped his cheek-_

 _"I don't want a faggot for a son!"_

* * *

 _Mail_ tripped, his face smashing into the ground with a crunch, he choked on his blood as he grabbed his nose.

* * *

 _"Fucking hell Mail! I'm sorry, I'm just trying my best to get us-"_

 _"I hate you! I hate you for taking me away from tommy after the diagnoses! I hate you for moving me out here without even asking me, I hate you for kicking mom out, I hate you for being freaking crazy, I don't want to live on the streets! I hate you!"_

 _Truth was, Mail's father had lied to Mail a lot in that year, so many lies that Mail had forgiven and forgotten because his dad had problems and Mail understood that. So many times that the man had hit Mail while frustrated and angry, told Mail that they had enough money only for Mail to find that they had nothing to their name, told Mail that they had a house, only for the truth to be that Mail's father had screwed over an entire company to get it. Many more, and each time his father had told him that this was the way of life, and he believed his father because his father was loving any other time. He loved his father._

 _His father just had problems, problems that Mail acknowledged and ignored, because the good times were equal to the bad._

* * *

Leaning over, he hacked out a vicious cough, spitting blood out onto the floor. When he looked though, it wasn't blood, it was paint, swirling into the twisted image of a person he vaguely recognized.

* * *

 _"Stop it! You're going to wake up Mail! I get it, you don't like me, leave then!" Mail's father shouted hypocritically, and the woman standing across from him stayed silent. In that moment he realized what he'd just said to his wife. Meanwhile Mail stood a few feet away in the living room, unbeknownst to his parents._

 _Later, Mail's father checked in to the six year old boy who was pretending to sleep, and immediately, Mail opened his eyes and said; "Where'd Mama go?" His father sighed in response, wiping a hand over his face as he sat on the bed and put one hand on Mail's belly._

 _"She left buddy, your mother doesn't like us. Anymore."_

* * *

This was wrong, these memories popping in Matt's head- and who was Matt? Why was he referring to himself by that name, he's...who is he-

A hand lay on Matt's shoulder, and Matt looked up with a jolt, freezing as he found his face inches from Mello's. "Huh?" He choked out tearfully, his face covered in yellows and reds and blue's, the colours that were formerly only red.

Mello touched Matt's face lightly, regretfully, and Matt couldn't move, his mind racing. What's going on, why is he here suddenly, why are all these memories so messed up, who's are they? He knows that's how these happened but they weren't his- how did he get here-no, why did Mello bring him here in the first place?!

"Jesus, how much do you have going through your head to come up with this mess?" Mello's words seemed to echo in Matt's head as the blond traced marks in the paint on the redhead's cheek, and Matt slowly lost any control of his body, slowly he was falling. Mello caught him, not a great feat, but Mello then held him with an expression of concern on his face. Matt stared up at him, feeling like a child in the blond's grasp(Though it was comforting.) feeling like he was so weak, scared, yet he was comforted. His eyes became heavy, and the the last words he heard were blurred out, though Matt registered the tone easily over the droning that had appeared in his head.

 _Sadness._

 _Matt didn't know why._

 _Matt didn't know-_

 _Matt didn't remember-_

* * *

"-don't know, something's happened to 'im, that shit was freaky, I thought he'd just wander around a bit and figure it out himself."

"This is why we ask Wammy weather to bring kids here or not."

"Screw Wammy."

Matt opened his eyes slowly, finding the sight above him to be only of glow in the dark stars littering what was clearly a ceiling. It took a second for him to catch up, but when he did, he sat up immediately, letting out a strangled sound followed by a "What hap-" before landing his eyes of those two boys..Mello and...Near. He froze, and Near stood up slowly, weakly, excusing himself, while Mello stared at Matt with that look, that concerned annoyed glare.

"You're really fucked up, aren't you?"

Matt choked on a breath, taken aback, confused, frightened as he registered being sat in a bed, wrapped in black silken sheets. He pushed the fabric away frantically, moving like a frightened animal to stand up and point at Mello. "Where the heck am I!?" he shouted, shaking as he stared at Mello, who stayed knelt over the bed, still gazing at him. "Well!?" Mello just sighed, standing up and beginning to make the bed. This made Matt all the more scared.

"Answer me, please!" The 'please' got Mello, and he stood across from Matt in a few seconds, face not even a inch away from Matt's and that expression not changing.

"You're dead, that's where you are, call it heaven, hell, whatever you like, we call it nothing."

Matt had dropped his arm when Mello stepped up, and now he was just shaking, staring at Mello with wide blue eyes from this distance that he barely even registered. "H-how am I dead, how is this nothing? This is clearly not nothing, that was too much before..."

Mello shifted uncomfortably, stepping back, looking at the floor before glancing back at Matt through his eyelashes in an odd gesture. His voice was better when he spoke next. "You've been over this before, where else does anything come from?" How did he know that? "That instance back there, that was you're head sorting itself out, your whole life laying in front of your eyes in...well, in your case, code."

Matt took a stood back, glaring now. "No!" He shouted, turning away and putting his hands in his hair. "I'm not dead, there is no fucking way, that never happened. This is just my imagination!"

"Sit down."

"No, fucking tell me how to go back home, I'm crazy okay? I get it, you can stop messing with me!" Mello's expression softened, and he sat down on the bed after a second of thought, watching Matt pace.

"I'm sorry Matt, I know how it feels, it feels like you're still here but that's just your mind, I know that there seems like there was no time for you to have died, but that too...it just...disappears." The blond put his hand on his forehead, looking at his lap while Matt stopped to look at him.

"That makes no sense, you're fucking with me." He stated.

"Your camera."

"What?" Matt looked at the device, then back at Mello, Mello looked right at him then, and Matt knew from that, that Mello was telling the truth. Matt grabbed the camera cautiously, pressed the power button, and watched as it blinked to life. He began to shake again.

"I-" the camera had broken in the rain, it'd been soaked, there was no way it could work anymore.

Rational caught up with Matt, how it was way too cold before, how the building that they'd walked into was too weird, how he'd seen Tommy...he knew he wasn't that crazy, sure, he was like his dad, but...not hallucinations, those wouldn't happen so suddenly, especially like that.

He began to cry, sobs wracking his body slowly, and picking up as the seconds slipped by. A clock in the background got louder the more harsh he began to cry, the more he hiccuped, wiping tears from his cheeks frantically, noting his dry hair, noting through blurry tears the red and black striped shirt that he'd lost when he was twelve that he was currently wearing.

"No," he whimpered, standing there weakly. "I can't be dead, I just can't."

Mello was standing beside him then, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder and rubbing his thumb across his clavicle. As Matt looked at him Mello looked to the ground.

"I was a mafia rat, my father was the boss, I killed myself in traffic, I don't know how you feel but I have seen it a lot. I'm very sorry." Matt looked away, a hand gripping the hem of his shirt. He felt sick, he wanted Mello to _stop those 'comforting' touches'. He wanted this to be a dream, he wanted this all to be fake, he wanted this to just go away!_

 ** _Beep! BEEP! BEEEEP!_**

Mail jolted up from his sleep, the beeping of his alarm clock ignored as his choked on his breath, eyes promptly catching his disheveled reflection in the mirror on his bedroom door. A panic stricken look was on his face and it only grew as he gripped his chest, cursing under his breath as he looked at the clock, moving to turn it off, before he sat down, breath evening out slowly.

His body still felt like lead. That feeling hadn't gone away.

-And that dream was fucked up, Mail was still trying to figure it out as he sat there for ten minutes, staring at himself in the mirror. Everything had seemed so..real. Everything was so fucked up, everything so real, like his life really was that twisted, like he really did carry all that baggage from his dad.

"Forget it, it was just a dream." He muttered, standing up, noting that he'd wasted too much of the morning regaining his composure.

* * *

"Yea, that is weird, really fucking weird, was just a dream though at least." Mickey laughed a little, gathering his books from his locker and turning back to Mail, leading them to class.

"It was so real though! I feel like this could be a dream too. I don't know, I'm still running it through my head." Mail muttered with a grin. Mickey was a cheerful type, and Mail's best friend in school, he always cheered Mail up.

"Maybe you should change your name to Matt, you hate Mail anyways, I think it would suit you- anyway, are you still coming trick or treating with me and my little sis'? I could use the company"

"Yea, I promised, remember? I wouldn't back out." Mail spoke with a grin, and Mickey nodded in satisfaction, handing Mail a chocolate bar, which the boy pocketed promptly.

* * *

Mail's mind had calmed by the time school was out, and as he walked down the street, now bits and pieces of it had disappeared from memory. He was feeling back to normal, if not a little tired. Nightmares could take a lot out of you, more than a ten mile run...

Matt chuckled at his internal dialogue for no reason really, as he shook his head at his own illogical antics. Maybe that dream was right, he was a little crazy..though...his dad wasn't exactly crazy, like the dream had said, but Mail's subconscious..maybe it was some sort of symbolism.

Matt pulled out his Psp, contemplating the dream lazily as he played an already well beaten game. It was kind of true, he supposed, not necessarily that he or his dad were crazy, but his dad was never around which left Mail feeling lonely sometimes, like he only had his friends which weren't even that reliable at times. For certain things...

Mail bumped into someone through these thoughts, having been walking along quite the busy street. Promptly he raised his head, saying; "sorry," only to be ignored by the blond that he had bumped into. He almost continued on, until something clicked and he stopped abruptly, swinging around to see a familiar black coat with the hood pulled up.

Then he noticed the direction the figure had turned, slowing down as they stopped by the curb, steps away from speeding traffic. Matt froze, staring at the 'stranger' frightfully.

There was no way, the person had to be just waiting for someone to pick him up. Yes, that was it, because that dream was just that. A dream. Nothing more. So what if this person now some feet away from Mail had ignored him, like someone manic would do, it didn't matter that the person had that same deep blond hair that Mello had had, it didn't matter that the jacket and height and everything else was-

"Hey!" Mail shouted, registering that first step. The stranger hesitated as Mail began to push through the crowd, but it was too late and the stranger ignored him again, walking briskly into the traffic. Several people swerved, a screech sounding from what could be cars knocking into each other.

Matt let out a shout, the moment slowing down painfully as he bolted forwards, dropping his Psp as it clacked on the ground and he grabbed Mello's coat. He heard a gasp and yell of a name as he tugged the blond back, before he heard a loud crash, shattering, and _pain seared through his body. His head hit cement, his eyes registering a red car rolling beside him and the blond hair coated in blood beside him as his vision-_

 _-and blood began to pool around him-_

 _-the sound of panicked shouts-_

 **"BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!"**

Matt fell out of bed, hitting his head on his desk which caused him to curse in pain and scramble to shut off the alarm.

He slouched, his head falling into his arms and his eyes squeezing shut as he breathed heavily. His body felt like glass, his skin like fire with a thin coating of sweat on it. It felt like hell. And real, unlike the fogginess of that dream...

"What. The. Fuck" That was THE worst dream he'd ever had in his entire life, all the way to the end where 'that' had happened and Matt had felt like he was really dying...Oh god, that was so terrifying. Matt was never going to save a stranger from killing themselves, it was just too scary.

In real life Matt probably wouldn't have been able get his ass in gear and move if he saw someone about to commit suicide, anyways...that made him feel bad.

"Brov! Mom is making breakfast, she says come down right away!~" Matt cringed as heard his little sister's voice, he felt like he had a hangover, a very light one. He raised his head to glare at the door. Leave it to his sister to be unknowingly annoying when Matt wanted it the least.

""Alright!" He shouted back, slowly standing up. _His mother was making breakfast?_ that caught up with him as he slipped on a red and black shirt, noting his poor choice- that was the same shirt from his dream.

His mother never made breakfast though, always letting the kids make their own so that she could sleep a little longer before work.

Cool.

Matt hurried to get dressed and ran downstairs, steps echoing in the old stairway, and at the bottom Matt was met with the smell of toasted waffles, cherry sauce and the sight of his younger brother, little sister and aunt at the table, along with his mother at the stove. Greetings and chatter passed by as usual, and Matt didn't get much else a chance to speak until his mother told them all to 'pipe down' and Matt voiced his question with the opportunity.

"What's the occasion?"

She shrugged, ruffling his hair like she used to do when he was a kid. "I just felt like it, I've been working so much lately that I haven't done anything like this for awhile. Your father has to work tonight by the way, but tomorrow he has off."

Matt could accept that, and he smiled, thanking her, everyone else following his lead. His mind was still on that dream though, it was so..hell...how had his mind come up with all of that...?

"Are you doing anything tonight?" That was Clarice, Matt's aunt, and he nodded promptly.

"Mickey and some of our friends are going trick or treating."

"Really? you haven't hung out with them for awhile." Matt shrugged. It was true.

* * *

"You're going as a ghost!?" Mickey bit out a laugh as Matt stepped out of his house later that day, having lost track of time this morning and in that forgotten his costume when he went off to school. Matt poked his friend teasingly in response.

"Okay Captain Jack, no one's as cool as you, I get it."

"Good, I'm glad you've finally realized, now let's go." Mickey hopped down from the front porch with a teasing smile, and Matt followed, both boys catching up to Sam and Arthur who had impatiently continued on while Matt got his costume from inside. Immediately, and as usual, teasing remarks and interesting statements began to spill from everyone's lips as the group of sixteen year olds walked through their ghetto esque neighborhood, the homes around them shoddily dressed with Halloween decorations.

* * *

It was dark by the time the boys had trick-or-treated their way to the upscale part of town, playing games of truth or dare and the like all the way, each carrying a bag of candy in hand as they avoided crashing into any little kids running around in the excitement of the night. Matt himself, was sharing his dream with Sam, the short teen terribly interested, saying he was going to draw something inspired by it for his teacher. Matt didn't object, though he didn't get to say anything more as Jaclyn, who they had stumbled on later on in the night, jumped him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hey Matt! Do you have any Milk Duds in there?" She pointed to Matt's bag with a grin, and Matt shook his head, tilting his body away from her.

"No! Now get off of me!" She jumped away at the protest, and playfully put her hands on her hips.

"What? You don't like a cute girl hanging off of you?" Matt grinned, shaking his head and laughing even more when Arthur shouted; "Wait! you're a cute girl?!"

"Hey! Asshole, you're gonna pay!" She screeched and jumped over to Arthur, taking advantage of her Halloween costume and biting his neck. The teen shouted in protest, though Matt was sure he didn't mind all that much as he groped her butt, Mickey and Matt laughing their guts out when he tried to tell her that it was an accident. Clearly their laughing didn't help anything.

"Okay, who's up for some tricks?" Arthur said later, and Matt face-palmed, hearing Mickey cheer and Sam and Jaclyn voice a question.

"No, no tricks, last time I got grounded for three weeks because of you and your antics." Matt said, giving the teen a push. Arthur just grinned.

"Come on Matt, you know you like it, and we have to do one illegal thing tonight, at _least_. Its tradition."

Matt dropped to the back of the group, grumbling about getting in trouble with mock distaste. Sam tried comforting him, not catching on because of being new to the group of friends. Matt just gave him a smile, before turning his attention to Mickey and Arthur bickering about the best crime for the night.

Matt didn't want to get in trouble so he wouldn't do anything, but he would certainly watch, and the others knew that, even as Mickey teased Matt for being a wimp.

"Okay, how about we throw a brick at someone's window?"

"No!" Sam.

"Umm..sounds good." Jaclyn.

"Okay." Matt.

"Fuck yes!" Mickey. Matt didn't know why they were best friends, they were such extreme opposites.

Half an hour later Arthur had scored a brick from some rich nick's garden and they were scouring the streets for a house that would be a good target. Jaclyn was clearly trying to get Arthur's attention, because she kept hanging off of him and suggesting victims. Matt thought that those two would make a good pair, Bonnie and Clyde style. Mickey agreed with this sentiment, and eventually suggested a house with a big red cross painted on the door, roses tangling around it.

That gave Matt a pause, as he stopped to look at it with interest. Not just the dream, but he had been here before, hadn't he...

He'd apparently zoned out a bit, because the next thing he knew the group was deciding who got to throw the brick. "I'm not doing it," Matt added pointedly, cutting in as he pulled the sheet of his costume over his head, and Arthur responded with a; "No duh, you wouldn't be able to actually hit the window, we all know that." Everyone laughed, Matt included, before he suggested that the volleyball girl should do it, Jaclyn. Everyone agreed, Jaclyn nervously but not protesting, and everyone crept behind a set of juniper bushes, Jaclyn behind Matt, where he had the poorest view, though the most hidden.

"Ready? Set, go!" The brick sailed, everyone watching raptly as it connected with a thump and shatter. Jaclyn got up to run at soon as it did, but Arthur pulled her down into his lap, telling her that they would watch to see any reaction. Sam and Matt gave Arthur a worried look, but he just shrugged.

"Its dark enough, and it will only take a moment."

Indeed;

"Who the fuck threw a fucking brick at my fucking window!" Mickey almost burst out laughing, though Matt rose an eyebrow at the voice he'd heard, of a young man. Probably a teenager. Arthur, satisfied then, stood up whilst signaling the group to run. They all picked themselves up, hiding their faces behind hands and masks as they began to run across the street.

They stopped when Matt didn't move past standing up, eyes glued to the teen leaning outside the window with a pissed off expression directed towards them.

"Hey, what are you doing, c'mon Matt!"

"You idiot, don't say his name!"

The teen in the window's expression changed to confusion, and suddenly he didn't seem so pissed off, meanwhile Matt was still gawking at him. Gawking at the blond hair, narrow eyes, and blue eyes with astonishment. The blond squinted, and for a second Matt thought this was another dream, then the blond spoke.

"Matt?!" He called, and Matt cast the thought of it being a dream away, instead he nodded, Mickey exclaiming "You know each other?" and Sam making a confused sound.

Matt turned to his group of friends, shrugged, then turned back to Mello. Still not believing this, he said; "Mello?" and the blond nodded, smirking a little, his expression confused still as he seemed to be straining to see Matt clearly. Noticing this, Matt stepped into the light of a lamppost.

"Well, oops." Matt heard Arthur's voice, "Sorry dude. Didn't know man." Arthur was genuinely apologetic, but Matt dismissed this as Mello responded.

"S'fine, I'm rich." Everyone paused, before Mickey laughed aloud.

"Hey, you're cool, you wanna get out of your palace and come hang with us?" Mickey said through his laughter, and Mello shrugged, eyes drifting to Matt in question, though Matt got the feeling that the blond would come anyway, if he wanted to.

"Yeah, why not..." Matt realized how shy-like he sounded at that, immediately correcting it. "But don't you dare do it only to incriminate us!" Mello grinned cockily in response.

"You'll have to find that out for yourself, now, won't you?" He teased, and Matt wondered if this Mello character was only talking about the window.


End file.
